Females were very rare in the night court's ruling family as it was, all either die young or end up forgotten in the abyss of history.
Rhysand ever thought he'd have to father one of these, in fact, he did't believe he even deserve to be a father, u...
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
all the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting "More."
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There was something about the fighting rings that made Elayla's skin itch uncomfortably, the distinct smell of sweat and blood lingered in the air, not that it was unfamiliar.
She hadn't been there in weeks, two nights before Rhysand came back from Under The Mountain.
Elayla hadn't missed the place by any means, it was just a means to an end for her, a way to the underground world in Velaris, and a let out to the anger she bottled up all the time.
The rage that Elayla held back was the secret behind every victory Stella made in that ring. It was brutal, raw, the secret she kept to herself.
There was nothing that could stop her in that place.
"I told you not to approach me in public." She bristled at Alphard, tightening her group on his throat.
She didn't care about the bastard at all, but him daring to talk to her in public was a dumb mistake from him.
"Scared your little secret will get revealed, your Highness?" He managed to choke out.
"You're so dead, Alphard." She spat out.
"If I die, my people will hunt you down, Stella." He tsked, "the night court can't run without its heir, can it?"
She could've crushed his windpipe and gotten over with it, she could've misted him into oblivion, make his existence a mere stack of dust.
She was just tired of death, and killing.
"What do you want?" She asked. "Money? Gold? A title? What do you want to leave me alone."
"One last fight." He bargained. "A single fight. Your father will never know of it. One last victory and Stella will disappear the same way she appeared.
"I'm not your little performer, asshole." She scowled, letting go of him.
"Maybe not, but maybe I can manage to convince your pretty little Illyrian to be one instead." He taunted.
"You don't go near him." She glared at him, "you don't breathe around him you don't even think about him. You hear me?"
Her blood boiled at the thought of Alphard going anywhere near Alaric. That was a hard red line.
"Protective, I see?" He raised his eyebrows. "Would he say the same if he knew what kind of trouble you've been on and about here, the last few decades?"
All the blood she spilled and she'd, would Alaric be proud of it, or would he see her as the freak she had become?
The thought was sobering, brutal, making her clench her fists and purse her lips. One single fight to keep the jerk away from her trails forever.
"One fight." She said coldly. "And if I find out you went around for him behind my back, I will mist youandyour people."
She didn't want that fight, didn't want another mess at her hands, and she had the very bad feeling that it was going to go terribly wrong.
The fight in fact did not go well.
She was an aching bleeding mess, bruises scattered all over her face and body.
Her blood was sticking to her skin as the other male laid half-dead on the ground.
And she stared, violet eyes hollow, drowning in the sadistic cheers of the spectators.
Her stomach churned, her vision was blurry. She recognised the symptoms. Concussion.
She hit her head many times that night. It was no wonder she ended up in that state, stumbling out of the ring. Dragging herself out of that Hell.
Out. She needed out.
The world turned around her.
Out. Out. Out.
She closed his eyes.
Out. Out. Out.
She remembered the last time she felt like that.
Out. Out. Out.
She subconsciously winnowed to the place she once called home.
Out. Out. Out.
"Layla?" A familiar voice asked, the urgency of it passed unnoticed, the hands grabbing her face felt almost ethereal.
"Baba." She breathed out. Words and thoughts blurring inside her head.
